


Toeing the Line

by BeautyGraceOuterSpace



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Disordered Eating, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exhaustion, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jim needs a hug, Stress, Tarsus IV, Tarsus Issues, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 10:50:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16196051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautyGraceOuterSpace/pseuds/BeautyGraceOuterSpace
Summary: Len took a moment to collect his thoughts, pursing his lips and sucking on his teeth to refrain from sighing heavily. Jim was in no state to hear the full scale of his lecture on health and bad decisions, not now.He had a guilt complex a mile long, and had for as long as Len had known him. Hell if he knew what to do about it, but right now it was taking its toll.He was exhausted. He was making himself sick. And he looked so damn defeated.





	Toeing the Line

“That’s it. Get up.” 

Jim jolted at the sound of Bones’ voice. His chin slipped from its perch, propped up on his hand.

“You need rest. And that’s an order.” 

Jim had been sitting in the same spot at the same desk in the same room for seven and a half hours now. When he had missed lunch, Len hadn’t been too concerned; sometimes when he was stressed, Jim’s body just ignored everything until he could calm down. Missing one meal wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but it definitely clued him in that things weren’t as ok as Jim was trying to pretend they were. 

When he missed dinner as well, Len knew he was barely holding it together. 

Which is why he found himself leaning on the wall beside the door of Jim’s quarters, arms folded against his chest and frowning disparagingly at the hunched back of his captain, seated at his desk with a stack of PADDs in front of him and clinging to consciousness like his life depended on it. Jim hadn’t even noticed the door opening. 

Jim started to speak, but his voice faltered on the first word, hoarse from disuse. He cleared his throat quietly, running a hand through his hair, sending the blonde strands sticking up in various directions as he sat a bit taller in his chair. 

“I’m fine, Bones.”

Dismissive.

Defensive. 

“The hell you are,” Len scoffed before continuing, softer. “You missed two meals today, Jim.”

 

* * *

 

 

_ Jim fiddled nervously with the hem of his t-shirt, eyes on the floor. Unfocused. Staring.  _

 

_ “On Tarsus… when--whenever I lost someone-- I thought if I just tried harder, ate less, did more-- maybe… maybe the rest of them would make it.”  _

 

* * *

 

Jim sighed heavily, his shoulders dropping as he exhaled. 

“I’m just-- busy.” He gestured vaguely at the PADDs littering his workspace, clearly intent on returning to whatever project he had buried himself in. 

“Jim--” Len began, a hint of a reprimand creeping into his tone. 

“Bones, I said I’m busy.” Jim didn’t sound irritated, just worn down. Defeated. 

“”What you  _ are _ is exhausted. Is there anything in that pile that absolutely can’t wait until morning? Don’t you even think about saying yes unless someone’s life is at stake.” 

“Bones--”

“Up.”  

“Bones!” Jim said sharply, the hand that had been tangled in his hair where he rested his head on his propped up arm gesturing for Len to stop talking. A bit of frustration leaking into his tone, he clenched his hand into a fist, dropping it softly to the table with two slow raps as he said, “Just-- leave it.” 

Len rolled his eyes where he stood. Jim knew better, and Jim knew that he knew Jim knew better. But this shitshow of a day was wearing on Jim, in more ways than most knew, and Len wasn’t about to leave him to stew in his own thoughts a moment longer. 

It had started simple: a request to beam a party down planetside to assist in rescue efforts for a city ravaged by attacks from a band of invading Nausicaans who had decided the city was easy prey. They captured many and left few alive, leaving the original inhabitants of the planet desperate for aide. 

Those selected for the rescue party had done their jobs well. They had been swift and efficient in their infiltration of the Nausicaan camp.

Their deaths had been even more so. 

There had been no survivors.   

"Jim... do we need to call Chris?"

 

* * *

 

 

_ "Jesus... maybe-- hear me out, maybe Pike should know about this?" _

 

_ Jim still wouldn’t meet his eye. After a long silence:  _

 

_ "...he already does." _

 

* * *

 

 

Jim’s shoulders pinched, growing irritability and exhaustion making him feel defensive and snippy. “No, Bones,” he began placatingly, his tone becoming increasingly more hostile the longer he spoke. “We don’t need to go reporting to my CO that I had a shitty day and can’t pull myself together. He already knows what a colossal fuck up this was; the reports he got were bad enough. The last thing he needs is--”

“Did you throw up?” Len interrupted, unphased by Jim’s ire.

“Jesus,” Jim growled under his breath, throwing his head back in frustration.   

“Answer the question, please.”

Jim finally set down his stylus, dragging both hands down his face roughly as he spun to face Len. Len raised an eyebrow, daring Jim to keep up the silence. They both knew who would win that stand off. 

Crossing his arms defiantly against his chest, Jim tilted his chin up, matching Len’s challenge. 

“Twice,” he admitted, quiet but steady. “So what? That doesn’t mean--”

“Stop it,” Len said, just a hint of a bite entering his tone, cutting off Jim’s bullshit excuse before it was fully formed. “You know damn well what.” 

Jim visibly refrained from responding for a long moment; Len could see his fingers twitch, clenching and unclenching where he gripped his elbows. 

“If you’re here to diagnose me then--” Jim began, before trailing off in frustration. He continued, dangerously quiet, desperate to keep his voice from breaking, “Bones, what do you want me to say?” 

Len sighed, crossing his own arms slowly. “I want you to be honest with me.” 

Jim shook his head with a humorless laugh. “You don’t want to know.”

Len cocked his head, adjusting his shoulder against the door jamb where he stood. “You think I don’t already have a pretty good idea?” 

Jim glared weakly at him. “If you know then why are you asking?” 

“Because it’s clearly bothering you to keep it in. Talk to me, Jim.” 

Jim lurched to his feet suddenly, and Len refrained from countering the movement, holding himself steady as Jim took a few steps toward him before halting, the distance between them just too wide to be comfortable and natural. Len straightened, taking his weight fully on his feet and uncrossing his arms. 

Slowly, Jim began, voice quiet. 

“You have any idea what it’s like--” he began, trailing off and focusing his gaze on the floor. “They-- people depend on me, Bones. He started pacing anxiously, tangling a hand in his hair. “They depend on me to keep them alive, those officers depended on me to keep them safe-- and I didn’t.” 

Len forced his voice to remain steady and sure as he replied, “Jim, there was nothing you could have done.” 

“Oh, bullshit,” Jim snarled, “there’s  _ always _ another way. If I had only--”

“You weren’t even  _ there _ ,” Len continued, trying to reason with him. “You weren’t a part of the landing party, and--”

“Then I should have chosen more experienced crewmen!” Jim insisted. “This could have ended differently if I--”

“Jim, the Nausicaans were out for blood-- they were never going to negotiate with us.” 

“Then I should have seen that coming!” Jim cried, whirling to face Len, ceasing his back and forth across the floor. He stood silently for a moment, breathing shakily through his nose. Quieter, he continued, “I’m the captain. It is my responsibility to ensure the best possible outcome for all parties, but first and foremost my crew. I can’t pretend like there wasn’t some way this could have been avoided, and I can’t pretend that the consequences aren’t my responsibility.”

Len closed the distance between them, clasping Jim’s bicep in his hand to enforce his point as he said, “Sometimes things just happen-- things we can’t control. And we have to live with that the best we can. But Jim, this was not your fault. Ah ah ah-- hush up and listen,” he said as Jim made to protest. “You did the best you know how to do, and that’s all anyone can ask of you. The Nausicaans were never going to negotiate. They played us, Jim. They played us  _ hard _ and we  _ all _ fell for it.” 

He could feel Jim trembling beneath his hand, exhaustion, hunger and the emotional impact of the day taking its toll. 

“Hey,” he said, when Jim didn’t respond. “Talk to me. Is this a now problem, or a  _ then _ problem?” he asked pointedly.  

“Bones--”

“Answer the question. What do you need right now?”

Jim sighed angrily, shoving halfheartedly at the hand around his arm. “I just want to finish these letters--”

“Letters?” Len asked sharply. “Letters to who?” 

Jim closed his eyes with a grimace, clearly having not intended to let that slip. 

Immediately Len released Jim, making his way to the desk and haphazardly scooping up two, three of the PADDS, swiping quickly through the contents on each screen. 

 

_ Dear Mr. and Mrs. Enduin… _

 

Swipe. 

 

_ I regret to be the one to tell you… _

 

Swipe. 

 

_ Your daughter was an incredible officer… _

 

Swipe. 

 

_ Your son was an invaluable asset… _

 

Swipe. 

 

_ … loyal member of our crew… _

 

Swipe. 

 

_ … my deepest apologies… _

 

Swipe. 

 

_ I’m sorry.  _

 

“Jim,” Len groaned. “Jesus Christ, kid--”

“Look,” Jim interjected, looking more worn down by the second, “if you’re going to yell at me just-- can it wait? I just want to get this done.” 

 

* * *

 

 

_ “Please, try to understand. The things I did-- I never... I just-- I didn’t know what else to do.” _

 

_ “Of course you didn’t, Jim. Jesus, you were thirteen.” _

  
  


* * *

 

 

Len took a moment to collect his thoughts, pursing his lips and sucking on his teeth to refrain from sighing heavily. Jim was in no state to hear the full scale of his lecture on health and bad decisions, not now. 

He had a guilt complex a mile long, and had for as long as Len had known him. Hell if he knew what to do about it, but right now it was taking its toll. 

He was exhausted. He was making himself sick. And he looked so damn defeated. 

That wasn’t Jim Kirk. 

He didn’t need a lecture. He needed a friend. 

So with a soft sigh, Len nodded his head, mentally preparing himself for the task of pushing aside the doctor and focusing on being the friend. 

Gathering up the rest of the PADDS, he made his way to the bed and lowered himself to the floor, leaning his back against the mattress for support as he began typing. 

Reviewing the name on the file, he began his letter. 

He detailed the bravery of the ensign, their kind heart and dedicated service. He explained how their wounds had been too severe, how treatment had, unfortunately been too late. There had been nothing he could do. He expressed his apology and signed it, “with deepest regret and my most sincere apology”. He picked up another PADD. 

“Bones?” Jim asked softly, watching him questioningly. 

“You don’t get to shoulder all the blame for this, kid,” Len replied, continuing on his next letter. “You’re the captain. I’m the doctor. We both carry guilt when this shit happens. And the security detail, and the ones who weren’t there… we’re a crew. We’re a team. We can only try to do better in the future.” 

Jim made his way to Len’s side, sinking to the floor beside him. 

Taking up his own PADD, he murmured, “Thank you, Bones.” 

Len nodded as they typed together. 

Another few moments passed before Jim spoke again. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“‘S ok, kid.” 

They continued on in silence. 

After several minutes, Jim suddenly paused, his fingers going still against the screen. 

Glancing at him from the side of his eye, Len asked cautiously, “Jim?” 

“I’m-- I’m gonna--”

With that, Jim lurched unsteadily to his feet and stumbling rapidly towards the bathroom attached to his quarters, the telltale signs of retching carrying behind him to where Len sat. 

Hoisting himself upward, Len made his own way to the bathroom. 

Jim was kneeling before the toilet, sweat beading on his forehead and he heaved, his stomach having nothing left to give after a day without food and two previous rounds of vomiting.  He coughed and heaved, fighting to force out something that wasn't there. And then Len’s hand was on his forehead, pushing back his sweaty hair, an arm wrapping around his chest where he immediately clutched at it, and Len murmured in his ear, 'I gotcha, kiddo. I gotcha.”

When he finally stopped retching and had had a moment to catch his breath, Len spoke. 

“Here’s what we’re gonna do, ok? We’re gonna get you something to eat-- somethin’ light, some broth, maybe, and an apple… that sound ok?” Jim nodded. “Then we’re gonna get you to bed-- no, don’t argue with me, you’re exhausted and it’s not doin’ you any good to force yourself past your limits. You’re going on medical leave tomorrow, and I’m gonna take the morning to help you finish these letters, if that’s what you really want to do, and then we’re gonna talk. Sound good?” 

Jim nodded again, his body growing more and more relaxed in Len’s grip as his exhaustion finally won out. 

Len guided him to the sink, handed him a glass of water to rinse his mouth and stood by as he brushed his teeth to rid himself of the taste of bile. He let him walk himself to bed, but followed close behind, just in case Jim wasn’t as steady on his feet as he thought. 

He left for only a moment to retrieve a mild sedative, something to help Jim stay sleeping peacefully for at least eight hours, and began clearing up the PADDs from the bedside as it took effect. 

As he drifted off, Jim mumbled, “Thank ‘ou, Bones.” 

 

* * *

 

 

_ “Thank you, Bones… for-- listening. For… everything.”  _

  
  


* * *

 

 

He’d lost count of the times they’d done this, this dance around Jim’s guilt issues and food issues and ridiculous sense of responsibility for everything that ever went wrong. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d helped Jim into bed, and the number of times he’d gently guided him through their next steps, toeing the line between medical professional and caring friend as best as he could to keep Jim from going on the defensive, but still willing to do what Len said. 

But it was worth it. 

Every time he was able to take some weight off of Jim’s shoulders, help ease the burden of his past and his trauma, it was worth it. 

So he responded, whether Jim was awake to hear him or not: 

“Anytime, kid.” 


End file.
